Memories in the Mist
by SilverTwilight05
Summary: Yay! An Ico section! It really deserves it. Anyway...this is my take on what happened to Ico before the horsemen took him away. Enjoy, and please R&R.


Ico was one of the greatest games I have ever played. I enjoyed every minute I spent wandering through the decrepit castle. But I had always wished that I could see the events leading up to the introduction, what Ico's life was like before. So I came up with this. I hope you all enjoy it, and maybe I will add another chapter, spanning the events of the game.  
  
Ico does not belong to me, although I wish it did. It belongs to someone else that is not me and who deserves mountains of praise for creating such a wonderful experience.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Ico...  
  
  
  
A name meant to be quickly uttered and just as quickly forgotten.  
  
  
  
Ico...  
  
  
  
A name such as this belonged to the scorned and blighted.  
  
  
  
Ico.  
  
  
  
A simple name. A cursed name. His name.  
  
  
  
Ico!  
  
  
  
His wandering mind returned to him from the ever-brightening sky. Turning quickly, he saw his father staring down at him, already dressed and ready to start the day's work. The man motioned for his son to hurry and dress, and disappeared into the main room to eat. Ico hurred, as he could already smell the breakfast his mother was preparing. He pulled on his leather pants (which were already becoming too small for him, as they now only reached his ankles), and reached for his tunic, a bright and cheerful red, the only noticeable color in the small, one-windowed room. He slipped on his sandals and once again turned to his window which now greeted the new day, and he took in a lungful of the fresh, cool air. Before going to eat, however, he ran his fingers through his messy black hair, reached for what appeared to be several strips of frayed white cloth, and began to methodically bandage his head. By the time he was done, the strips of cloth had become a thick band around his head, with strands of black hair and frayed edges of material poking through and stirring in the light wind. Satisfyed, he tied up the remaining ends on either side of his head, and headed into the main room to have breakfast.  
  
  
The fresh porridge warmed his body and focused his mind. He received a hug from his mother, as he did every morning since he was deemed capable to go out and 'work' with his father, like the other boys in the village. It seemed to reassure her that nothing had happened to him in his sleep. While comforting to her, it had always made Ico feel uncomfortable. Why should she worry so? But then he had heard the stories the village elders told.   
  
Children such as him did not live beyond their first years.   
  
He returned the embrace and quickly finished his breakfast, eager to join his father in the orchards. He opened the door and waved goodbye to his mother, grabbing two large baskets as he left.  
  
  
He caught up to his father and they made their way out into the orchards, each with two large baskets on their shoulders. The world was quiet, the only sounds being the gentle wind and the occasional bird, and that was all. The quiet was a relief, compared to the past couple of days... but Ico put those events behind him, focusing on the task at hand. They arrived at the orchard with its endless rows of trees, the light snow of flower petals long since brushed away by the fickle breeze. With only a silent look between the two, Ico headed over to the nearest tree and began his ascent. Because Ico was so small and light, he would be able to climb into the trees and find fruit and nuts that someone on the ground might miss among the tangled branches. It also served as an outlet for Ico's boundless energy, for despite his small stature, he was able to keep up with most of the older boys in the village. He so loved to climb trees and hide among the branches, which was just as well, as the broad green leaves shielded him from prying eyes.  
  
  
Upon filling his baskets, and wiping away the juice around his mouth, Ico climbed down the tree trunk to his father. They had made out well, all of their baskets were filled to the brim, and it wasn't even midday yet. Ico dropped out of one of the trees, one arm wrapped around one basket, and dragging the other behind him. He was a funny sight, especially since he couldn't see over the basket he was holding... He thought he heard his father yelling something at him, and as he shifted the basket he was holding, he walked right into a tree...and dropped the full basket on his foot. He let out a small shout, and sent a sheepish grin to his father, who quickly arrived to help his son. He checked him over and, when he was certain his son was not seriously hurt, told him that he should try not to shout.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
The large man knelt down next to his son, trying not to meet the boy's sea-colored eyes.  
  
"Because...they do not like it when you shout. They become fearful."  
  
"'they'?"  
  
"Those living in the village."  
  
"...oh"  
  
They both stood in silence for a moment, then they gathered up their baskets and started for home under the sun's watchful eye.  
  
  
The incidents of the morning brought Ico's mind back to the week before, the day of the dark storm. The day had started out well, the sun bright and the wind cool, but it was not to last. Suddenly, as if out of the world of shadows, the sky grew dark and the wind became violent and fierce. The gentle wind had turned on them all. The wind howled, the thunder roared, and the lightening streaked across the sky and thunder roared, while trees bowed to the great god's fury. It was as if the world was coming to an end. Everyone shut themselves up in their homes, hoping to wait out the storm because it was just a storm and nothing more. Others began to pray for forgiveness for whatever brought on this punishment, for that was surely what this was.   
  
Ico had been some distance from his home, and he ran to get there, ran for his life. He was not exactly sure what happened next; something hard hit his head, probably a tree branch, and he cried out in pain. He was sent tumbling end over end, buffeted by the unrelenting wind. Coming to a stop against a rather large treetrunk, Ico had let out another cry, thought to be lost in the storm. He thought he heard yelling, and tried to make out shapes in the downpour. He saw a moving light, a torch, and dark shapes around it: a search party. He called out to them, reaching out with his hands, trying to stand but unable to fight the power of the storm. The rain drenched him, and the strips of cloth around his head were coming undone. He saw one figure point at him, and the others followed. Ico called louder and tried waving his arms, hoping that they would see him. The light of the torch illuminated him in the darkness...and the men stopped. They came no closer. Ico thought that, perhaps, they did not see him, so he yelled for them, reaching out for their aid...which never came. They began to leave, backing away from him with strange looks on their faces.   
  
He began to panic. They couldn't leave him...they wouldn't...just because he had...that was no reason to... He tasted salt on his lips, and realized he was crying. No! Why wouldn't they help him? Why was he so alone?! And he let out a cry of agony and despair into the storm...and the winds abated.  
  
His father had found him not long after that, and Ico was carried back home to dry off and rest. The next day had brought worse news; it seemed that the villagers thought that somehow Ico was the cause of the storm. It seemed that Ico was always the cause of something. All of the village's misfortune was laid upon the shoulers of young Ico, because he was...different.  
  
  
They were now passing the well, they were almost home. Ico paused, and, setting down his baskets, leaned over the edge to peer at his reflection. Even with his head wrapped, they were still just barely visable. He picked up a small stone and threw it into the water below. But not even the disturbed surface of his makeshift mirror could hide them, his curse, the source of his misery, his... horns. Not even longer than his finger, the twin horns jutted out from either side of his head. Not much to look at, but they marked him from birth as the curse-child. All of the village's maladies and woes would somehow be attributed to his very existence. He never understood why, for he had neither done nor thought anything that would hurt anyone, but the elders insisted that it was his very presence that caused the ills of the world. And that bad luck would continue to plague the village until...  
  
And they would tell him no more. Ico felt that he had a right to know what fate had planned for him, but apparently it was some sort of secret, for no one else in the village seemed to know, if they were even willing to talk about it at all. All those he asked only told him that one day the curse-child would be living in the village, and the next...gone. Ico had decided he did not like the sound of that, so he stopped asking. But he had always wondered if he would ever live to grow old.  
  
  
A pain in his head stirred him from his steadily darkening thoughts. He must have hit his head harder than he thought. He picked up his baskets and hurried to catch up to his father. When they finally reached home, and passed it by, Ico let out an audible groan. He'd forgotten that they had to bring the fruit to a loft to store it, and that loft was a good distance away. Resigned to the long trek, Ico adjusted the baskets he was carrying, and kept pace behind his father.  
  
It wasn't long before they reached the loft and deposited the fruit, baskets and all, which left them a bit of free time to wander into the village for a bit. Staying very close to his father, they ventured into the village. The response was immediate. All eyes averted themselves from the boy, yet Ico felt as if he was being watched. His father received brief greetings as mothers shooed their children ahead of them, to safety. Ico was accustomed to this type of greeting. At least there were no screams or fainting spells, like last time. He supposed it was because his horns were not as visible when he tried to wrap them. Or maybe because they had just become used to him. He had heard that many of the previous curse-children had never lived beyond their fifth year. He didn't know why they died so young, because he was already more than twice their ages. Did horns somehow make them feel sick? He felt fine, except for a dull pain in his head, but that was probably from his run-in with the tree.   
  
His father saw a friend of his, and left Ico to sit near a tree growing amidst the dwellings of the people. He saw some children playing, and wished he could join them. When he finally screwed up enough courage to go up to them, they stopped playing, and looked at him strangely. He hesitated, and in a small voice asked them,  
  
"Can...can I play too?"  
  
The others seemed to consider for a moment, and one of the taller children nodded to him. Ico bounded toward them with a smile lighting his face. They were throwing a large heavy ball around to each other, then trying to throw it into an old basket. Ico had actually made quite a few baskets before his father called for him to leave. He was disappointed that his fun was already over, but at least he got to have some fun before going home. He waved goodbye to the other children, and went home into the sunset.  
  
  
The pain in Ico's head was making itself known. It had become progressively worse over the course of the day, but he tried to ignore it. Now it was becoming so that he could not think, feeling like his mind was shrouded in a thick mist he could not find his way out of. When he arrived home, his mother had laid out a large dinner, in honor of Ico's twelfth birthday. Ico felt far from hungry, his head aching him so. His mother, seeing her son was not feeling well, immediately sent him to bed. Before Ico retired to his room, however, he looked back to his parents, who were currently exchanging worried looks. But his head hurt him so, and he felt so tired, that he only had time to untie his sandals before he collapsed into his bed. And, once there, fell into a fevered sleep.  
  
Ico's head filled with images of shadowy figures and black lightening. They seemed to be dancing in a large circle, around a quickly diminishing pillar of light. Then they turned to him, eyes flashing. They began to come closer to him, to drag him into the circle. He tried to run, but he found that he couldn't move. He tried calling out for help, but he made no sound. As they got closer, the pain in his head intensified. He could no longer see, but he could hear the ghostly moaning of the shadows, like the howling of the wind in a storm. He thought, detachedly, that the bandages on his head felt very tight. Then the creatures were on him, and he knew nothing more.  
  
  
He woke to low voices and the sound of his heart pounding. He opened his eyes slowly, only to find that the sun had not yet risen. He found that someone, probably his mother, had moved him during the night to rest comfortably on his bed. He tried to turn his head to look for the speaker, but found that he could not. He tried moving his fingers and toes, they were fine. He tried removing the blanket, and was rewarded with silence from the onlookers. But his head felt heavy, and he could not turn it. So he sat up, to find tall men in dark robes surrounding him. He was confused. Why were they here? And what was wrong with... He put one hand up to his head, and what he found there shocked him. His once tiny horns had grown large during the night. Reaching out with both hands, he felt the horns stretch up and out to twin menacing points. The robed men pulled him out of bed and told him to prepare himself. Too shaken to do otherwise, Ico put on his sandals and went to get his bandages, only to realize he was still wearing them. They were tattered and torn, for his horns were now much bigger. He stumbled into the next room, to see his parents standing side-by-side, with solemn looks on their faces. He tried to ask them what was going on, but then his mother looked at him with tear-filled eyes. She motioned for him to come closer. In her hands was a piece of clothing, like a shirt, but with no sleeves, it was as if the seams down the side had been cut, and a small hole for his head. Seeing that she could not put it over his head, she ripped it at the shoulder and sewed him into it. It was white, with a strange design on both sides that seemed to portray a black figure among dashes of color. Looking at it made Ico feel uneasy, so he tried to meet the gazes of his parents, to no avail. They would not, or could not, look at him. Without so much as a goodbye, the robed men led him outside. Once there, Ico was greeted with a new sight. Large men atop ebony horses awaited him. He could not see their faces, for they wore helmets with horns angled down, unlike Ico's. One of the robed men secured his hands with heavy metal cuffs, and he was pulled up into the saddle of one of the horses with a helmeted man behind him. The sun began to rise, and the robed men mounted their steeds. With only the slightest of hand signals between them, they quickly rode off into the woods, and took Ico to meet his fate.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Like it? R & R please, they're fun to read! 


End file.
